32. Chapter Thirty-One #2
Cradling the phone, I watch as Hudson coughs and splutters, blood pouring from his mouth.
Hands are clamped around his arms, keeping him in place, and he squints at the camera through swollen eyes, partially blinded by the bright light in his face.
Hudson draws in a ragged breath, his tongue darting out to sweep across his lips. He hisses when he touches where it's split and bleeding.
"I did it," he chokes out, head swaying slightly as he talks. "I admit, that I, Hudson Cooke, sexually assaulted Beatrix Calloway in March."
The camera moves back slightly just as a fist flies across the screen, bloodied knuckles smashing into the side of his face.
He screams in pain, and if it wasn't for the person holding him to the chair, he would have fallen to the side.
From the lack of tattoos, and the pale skin tone of the hands secured around Hudson's shoulders, I can tell Mouse is the one holding him. And from the blur of tattoos that flashed across the screen, I'm assuming it was Reeve who punched him in the face, meaning Milo must be holding the camera.
"I raped her!" Hudson shouts, making me flinch.
Reeve's arm curls around my shoulders, and he pulls me into his side as he takes the phone from my shaking hands. He holds it in front of me so I can continue watching.
"She begged me to stop, and I didn't. Then I made the video. I cut out most of the parts from when she was awake, clipping the rest together, and then I sent it around to everyone we knew."
Mouse's fingers dig into the skin of Hudson's upper arms, and he squeals, thrashing against the hold he's in.
A gun comes into view, and I gulp as I watch the barrel getting pressed against Hudson's temple.
He goes still, chin trembling.
I watch in anticipation as Reeve flicks the safety off and Hudson's eyes go wide—well, as wide as they can with how bloodshot and swollen they are.
"Fuck. I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry! Please, stop."
Finger on the trigger, Reeve adds more pressure and digs the gun into the side of Hudson's head.
"Stop? You want me to stop?"
Reeve's dark voice flows out from the speaker, sending a cold shiver down my spine.
"Please!" Hudson whimpers. "I'm sorry."
"You didn't listen when Trix begged you to stop, so why should I listen to you?"
My ex sobs, tears now streaming down his face.
Glancing up at Reeve, I know my own eyes are shimmering as I shake my head.
"Please tell me you didn't kill him."
He pauses the video and sighs.
"I didn't."
I breathe a sigh of relief.
"I wanted to, though."
He moves to stand in front of me, then wraps both arms around the tops of my shoulders and pulls me into his chest.
"He hurt you. Tormented you and mentally scarred you. I couldn't just let him get away with it. He deserved to feel pain for what he did to you, and you deserved some closure."
Kissing my temple once more, he tilts my head up, then brushes strands of hair out of my face.
"I went after him, and recorded his confession, so you could try and get justice for yourself again, if that's what you want. Obviously, we'd have to cut some shit out before handing it over to the police, but—"
"Thank you," I whisper, interrupting him.
"But I don't want to. I don't want to have to deal with all the stares and whispers again.
I don't want to have to face him in a courtroom and rip myself open again.
I'm done reliving that night and allowing it to affect my life.
I appreciate what you've done, I really do, but I don't want to go to the police.
Mostly because I couldn't live with myself if this backfired on you, Reeve. "
He shakes his head, then leans toward me.
"I don't care about what happens to me, Red."
Cupping his jaw in my hands, I brush my fingers against the dark hair covering his structured face, and I shrug.
"You might not, but I do," I tell him, as I pull him closer and gently press our lips together.
His fingers twine their way through my hair as our lips part, his tongue swiping across mine for a split second before he's pulling away, creating the smallest sliver of space between our bodies.
"Worrying about someone like me is a dangerous game to play, Trix."
The pulse in my neck kicks up a notch as his gruff voice washes over me.
"I don't care." Winding my hand around his neck, I close the space between us. "I'm playing it anyway."
Before our lips connect, he lifts me from the stool, his hands travelling to the back of my thighs as he sweeps me into his arms.
Locking my legs around his waist, a squeal escapes me, and a chuckle rumbles through his chest.
Swooping forward, his lips capture mine again in a hungry, desperate manner as he moves across the room.
Setting me down on the hard edge of the pool table, he groans against me, teeth nibbling on my bottom lip as the sound of balls clatter behind us.
Using my legs to pull his hips flush with mine, I rock my hips forward, moaning at the feel of his hardened length against my core.
The ridge of the pool table digs into my ass when his hands span across my back and push me into him, mimicking my movements.
Fingers digging into the leather across his back, I break away from him and tip my head back, greedily gulping down air, but Reeve doesn't let up.
His mouth travels over my jaw and down my neck, nipping at the tender skin.
My back arches, and a loud moan echoes around the empty space.
He hovers over the swell of my breasts peeking out of the cropped black top I shoved on this morning, his warm breath causing goosebumps to erupt across my skin.
"You okay, Red?"
"Yes," I tell him breathlessly, moving one hand to the back of his head. "For the love of God, don't stop."
His mouth is back on me before I can even blink—sucking, kissing, biting.
Hands roam over my body, gently squeezing and caressing every inch.